I Will Take the Chain From Off the Door
by sunsetdreamer
Summary: It's raining. Pathetic fallacy is too tired a device for her to use in her writing, but it has left its mark all over her real life.


This piece is set in that place in the – hopefully not too distant – future where B/B have built themselves back up to their former glory. More or less. It starts off semi-serious and then swiftly descends into semi-plausible sugar. A couple bits are inspired by a little conversation I had with rmcbuckeye sometime a couple weeks ago. Before my laptop broke and ruined my life.

* * *

**I Will Take the Chain From Off the Door**

_Are you calling me?  
Are you trying to get through?  
Are you reaching out for me?  
I'm reaching out for you._

_**Beautiful, **__Eminem_

It's raining.

As Brennan walks the streets of D.C. and dissects the tangled web that is her and Booth, she believes it's fitting. The sky is always weeping when they miss moments and crush hearts and feel the weight of all things said and unsaid between them. Puddles fill the streets and soak the earth, and the city is reborn time and time again as she and Booth run head first into the same wall in as many different ways as they can.

Pathetic fallacy is too tired a device for her to use in her writing, but it has left its mark all over her real life.

They've reached the stalemate again. Earlier this evening, she had watched him clean up their takeout containers and toss their beer bottles into her recycling bin with total ease and familiarity, and the truth had hit her hard. Months have passed and Hannah is a dim aching memory for both of them, and they're normal again except for the moments like this one when she feels empty and hopeless. The thought of living another six years in this exact place, conscious of a line that has somehow become more like a cliff edge, makes her heart grow heavy because it isn't enough anymore. For years she has found happiness in everything from the way he drags her to movies she doesn't care to see, to the way he instigates childish games and arguments. But in the last year she has seen them for what they are at their worst, and she has dreamed of what they could potentially be at their best, and their safe middle ground is close to painful now.

A homey looking coffee shop the next block up appeals to her for reasons unknown, and Brennan ducks inside without any real thought.

The middle aged woman manning the register gives her a warm smile even as she drips water all over the shiny floors. "It's raining cats and dogs something fierce out there, huh?"

Brennan winces. She'll never tell anyone – not even Booth – but whenever she hears that idiom she pictures innocent, trusting, beautiful cats and dogs falling from great heights and splattering on pavements. And while she doesn't cry anymore when she hears it (as she had once upon a time, back when she had been a little girl who begged her father to drive from rainbows' beginning to end), it still makes her a little sad.

"Yes, it is raining very heavily."

"What can I get for you?"

Brennan takes a moment to study the neat writing on the chalkboard mounted on the back wall.

"Two of the royal blend, please. One with milk and one with sugar."

She orders in duplicate automatically, and after the words are already out of her mouth she tries to remember the last time she has gone to a coffee shop and ordered just for herself. She's still thinking about it when the woman places the two paper cups on the bar and asks if she'll need a tray, and Brennan realizes it's too late to correct herself and cancel the second order.

As she leaves the building and stands once again in the torrential downpour, Brennan impulsively raises the sugared coffee to her lips and takes a cautious sip. She doesn't enjoy it, but it's warming and when she closes her eyes she can imagine Booth appreciating it.

Her phone starts to vibrate and Brennan frowns at her full hands for a minute before awkwardly juggling the coffees into one palm, and fumbling in the pocket of her soaked and clingy jeans.

"Brennan."

"Dr. Brennan, hi."

"Hey Cam."

There's a pause on the other end as Cam interprets the background noise. "Are you outside right now?" she asks incredulously.

"I just stepped out," Brennan fibs. Her lying has improved right along with her acting. "I'm heading to my car. Did you need something, Cam?"

Cam refocuses. "Right. I just need to know where to find the file you borrowed for case number…" her voice trails off as she searches the page, "…003672."

"But I'm not finished with it." Brennan protests immediately.

Cam sighs. "I know, and I'll have it back to you by tomorrow morning, I promise. I just need it – briefly – for cataloguing purposes. Please tell me it's somewhere in your office."

"It is," Brennan responds reluctantly. "It's in the second drawer of my desk, on the right hand side. I believe it is on the very top of the pile. However, I locked my desk before I left. And the keys are with me."

"I'll manage," Cam answers offhandedly. "Thank you."

"Cam, you can't just break into my desk! It's private!"

"It's property of the Jeffersonian, Dr. Brennan. Kind of like lockers in a high school. Which is fitting."

"Why is that fitting?"

Across town, Cam smiles into her receiver. "Never mind. Have a good night."

Brennan hangs up and makes a futile attempt to wipe off the surface of her phone before jamming the water logged device back into her pocket. She isn't all that pleased with the thought of Cam rifling through her desk, but Cam's the boss. Sort of. Her thoughts regarding Cam are mixed right now; they still clash occasionally – and to be honest, Brennan doesn't see that ending... ever – but she wouldn't have come back if she didn't feel some sense of loyalty to her sort-of-boss, and Cam has sparked some pivotal reflections in her this year.

She has jetted across continents on a moment's notice more times than even she can number off the top of her head, and every time she returns and picks up her life exactly where she had left it. The people are the same and her job is the same, and everyone tries to hug her even though she doesn't always understand why it's necessary.

Except for _this _time.

When she had returned from the Guatemala trip she had taken following Booth's surgery, she had gone straight to the lab and fielded greetings as she rolled her suitcase behind her, and Cam had offered her a hug. Which she had rejected. She had taken her acceptance at the lab as for granted as she had taken her friendship with Booth, and the two constants had come crumbling down at close to the exact same time.

This time, there had been a brief period of normalcy in the conference room at the Hoover, and then Brennan had floundered amidst a host of changes and anomalies she had been unprepared to face. Booth had a girlfriend and Angela was having a baby and Cam had been furious with her… she had taken a trip and she had returned and nothing in her life had been the way she had left it. Not even the lab itself.

A long time ago, Booth had stressed the importance of offering something of herself to connect with others, and it's a lesson she's been learning in bits and pieces over the years. Sometimes she forgets. Sometimes, Booth has had to remind her. But this year Booth has belonged to Hannah first and her second, and everyone else has had too many issues of their own to take the time to re-instill practices in her she has already had years to learn.

So yes; it hurts. _She _hurts. But she wants to feel close to her family again and she's willing to keep offering pieces of herself until she gets all her pieces of _them _back. She gets it now. And she thinks that maybe it all started with Cam, and an outpouring of frustration instead of an offer of a hug.

Brennan takes a sip from her coffee and she stares at the cup in her left hand, and she starts to throw it away but she begins to think once again about terms like 'everything' and 'eventually,' and she lets the heat of the cup balance out the sting of the cold rain hitting the back of her hand.

Recap. She had rejected Booth after a rainfall. He had rejected her during one. He had continued being her partner and she had remained his friend, and now she's ready and he's not and everything is through the looking glass. It's been months, and they're back to where they were, and it's not enough.

Brennan reviews her options:

She can go on a dig, but it hardly seems worth it considering how hard she has worked to prove herself this year.

She can wait for Booth's heart to heal enough for him to reach out one last time, and she can be sure she jumps off the cliff instead of cowering on the safe side of the line.

She can jump off the cliff first and hope that Booth follows her.

Brennan takes another sip of Booth's coffee and it doesn't taste any better than three minutes ago, but she's made a decision. She doesn't have it in her to pretend for six more years that her stomach doesn't flutter when she makes Booth laugh and her day doesn't seem lighter somehow when they share beer and ice-cream. She isn't as strong as he is.

The first three cabs to go by ignore her entirely and she quickly becomes irritated; one would think that a little water in the backseat would be preferred to the vomit of some college kid who's recently hit the legal drinking age. The fourth cab pulls up beside her and she gives Booth's address, and she clenches that coffee cup in her left hand like a lifeline.

* * *

By the time she gets to Booth's door, she's shivering violently and she no longer possesses the dexterity necessary to place both cups in one hand. She briefly considers setting one of the cups on the floor, but she refuses to put down Booth's and the fingers on her right hand won't cooperate, so in the end she settles for kicking the door repeatedly.

It's not subtle, but what the hell. She's a work in progress.

The door swings open and the annoyance in Booth's face melts immediately into concern.

"Jesus, Bones. Did you walk here?"

She opens her mouth and he cuts her off.

"Don't answer that. You're shaking; do you want some tea or something? You've got loads of that loose leaf stuff in my cupboard. Parker broke your strainer thing the other day but I can MacGyver something up for you."

"I brought you coffee." Brennan thrusts the cup forward and blurts the words without following him through the doorway, and she belatedly realizes she's still mostly standing out in the hall.

Booth's eyebrows climb high on his forehead and Brennan hurriedly steps forward and offers the cup again from a more reasonable distance.

Booth takes both cups from her hands and starts ushering her down the hall. "Thanks. Just let me get you some dry clothes first."

As they're walking she has a sudden vision of how the rest of the night will proceed. Because they've had this exact night hundreds of times before.

By the time she's changed into the clothes he offers her, she will have lost her nerve. She'll say something inane and he'll know it's not what she came here to say but he'll let it slide and guide them back to the living room. They'll drink the coffees and they'll talk about the last case and she'll ask about his weekend with Parker. He'll delight her with the latest antics of his son and she'll remind him that they're free to use her pool and maybe they'll make plans to do something over the coming weekend. It will be two a.m. before they know it and she'll mention calling a cab and he'll insist on taking her home and they'll argue over who chooses the radio station and he'll complain when she wins even though he lets it happen. They'll reach her building and he'll make a clever comment and she'll either laugh or not understand it, and he'll say, "Goodnight, Bones," and she'll say, "Goodnight, Booth," and they'll repeat the whole evening in two days.

Brennan digs her heels into the floor and resists his hand with everything she has.

"Bones, what-

"I have something I need to say."

"Okay," he unconsciously adopts that appeasing tone he takes on when he's dealing with an unstable suspect wielding a weapon, "we'll talk in a minute. As soon as you dry off we'll set up shop in the living room and dive into those coffees."

"I don't want coffee," she says desperately.

She whirls around to stare earnestly into his eyes and his hand shifts naturally from the small of her back to her hip. She's pleading with him to _please _read her like he always has, because she doesn't know if she can find the words she needs.

That concern is flooding his face with new intensity and she can tell he knows this is important, but _the _important piece hasn't clicked into place yet. "You don't have to drink it if you don't want it, Bones, jeez. We can talk about this after you're warm, alright?"

"No," she arches back again, "I mean I don't want _just _coffee. 'Just' is a _stupid _word and I- I hate it. I want- I want…"

The light bulb comes on and Booth's features soften and he's that juxtaposition of rigidness and flexibility that makes her heart thump out of rhythm.

"What do you want, Bones?"

"You," Brennan swallows. "I want you."

His eyes darken. "You have me."

"All of you."

Their first kiss in history had been one of shared responsibility. Then she had kissed him the second time. And he had kissed her the third time. Brennan stares at his mouth, so close to her own, and the fourth time, _this _time, she kisses him with every part of herself she has left to offer and she swan dives off their metaphoric cliff.

He's stunned initially, but he has the reflexes of a flea and in the space of a heartbeat, Booth cannonballs after her.

They're a medley of opposites and parallels. They're warm and cold, dry and wet. They're passion and passion and most notably they're sweet relief and sweet relief as years and years of aching pressure find the beginnings of assuagement.

Brennan feels giddy and she laughs into his mouth, and she feels his hard abdomen tighten through his damp t-shirt as he suppresses a laugh of his own.

She will remember this every time it rains, and it will mean more to her than Christmas or birthdays or any of the other holidays he loves so much.

They break the kiss and then Booth almost immediately latches back on to her lips. One second, two seconds, and he pulls away just as quickly. He studies her. When he's convinced of this reality he pulls her body flush against him, and her soaked clothing saturates his own.

There's a hint of anxiousness coming off him as he holds her and Brennan feels those regrets come creeping back. "I'll be better this time," she declares against his chest.

Booth sighs and Brennan knows he thinks she's got it wrong, but this time, it's okay. Because when you offer something of yourself, sometimes you get something back, and, this time, he gives her the answer instead of making her stumble around for it.

"I never needed you to be better. I just needed you to be you. I wanted _you_."

"You have me," Brennan parrots with total sincerity.

Booth smiles. "All of you?"

"All of me. Boils and all."

"Warts and all, Bones. And seriously, you need to change before you get hypothermia or something. Humour me, okay?"

Booth takes her hand and it's as natural as his palm on her spine. Brennan curls her fingers around his and commits the feeling to memory.

"Just so you know, I still want coffee," Booth teases as they make their way down the hall, "'cause I gotta admit, I'd miss that. And it seems like kind of a waste to throw away two perfectly good cups. Cups _you _brought over here, if I might add."

Brennan rolls her eyes. "As long as it is not _just _coffee, I see no cause for objection."

"Hell no. There's date coffee, and breakfast coffee, and comfort coffee, and just-because-we-want-to coffee… there's even naked coffee." He waggles his eyebrows. "Although that's probably a ways off yet."

Her stomach flips and she feels like laughing again, which is a welcome change from the cab ride, when a similar sensation had made her feel as if she might throw up. "I find the idea of coffee much more appealing in those terms."

They reach the bedroom and Booth turns abruptly, all traces of teasing and laughter gone.

"We're going to have to talk, Bones. It's the last thing I want to think about right now, and it won't be tonight, but, soon. And some of it's gonna hurt like a bitch."

The words aren't spoken but she's getting better with subtext and she hears the plea to stay stay stay, because he's worried that she won't be able to ignore her body's immediate inclination to take flight when she needs to protect herself. Brennan feels a flash of irritation because she's not the same person that she had been a year and a half ago and she feels she's proven this sufficiently, but Booth has self-preservation instincts of his own and ways of trying to protect himself, so instead she reassures him.

"I know," she says solemnly. She kisses him – just because she can now and it's another contradiction of foreign and familiar that makes her head buzz – and then she bites her lip. "I think it would be prudent to keep this ours. Until we talk. Until we're ready."

Part of her is afraid he will misinterpret her desire for secrecy, and her mind begins to whirl as she searches for the right way to reassure him that she isn't hiding, necessarily, but protecting what they are and giving them a chance to be their best together. But then Booth smiles for the umpteenth time, and she knows that they're still okay.

"I agree."

His tender tone washes over her and she feels like they're connected by more than just his hand.

"Okay."

"Okay." He kisses her – because he can now and because it's fun when it doesn't end in disaster – and then he pushes open the door.

And once they've both changed into clean, dry clothes, they have their first no-one-knows-but-us coffee.


End file.
